The Honeymoon
by SapSorrow
Summary: Amber and Graves go on their Honeymoon. Re-posted and Beta'd version of this story. M rated for graphic content.
1. Chapter 1

**Reposted for and Beta'd by Wandergirl108, with many thanks, after I ridiculously removed it in a silly fit of pique. :-) **

The Honeymoon

Part 1 # The Arrival

Graverobber lay back in his corner of the private jet and watched the city emerge out of the darkness.

He had never seen anything from this height before, never even been off Sanitarium Island. However alike one city looked to another by night, it was incredible, even from up here, how different they could smell. Graverobber was used to feeling with all his senses, and his sense of smell had actually been sharpened by years of squalor rather than deadened; he just didn't necessarily dislike the smells other people thought of as bad.

He shook his head to try and clear away the feelings of strangeness - and the uncomfortable popping in his ears - but it didn't work on either account. The events of the last couple of months had been too bizarre, going by too quickly and surreally for him to even begin to adjust to this altogether alien lifestyle just yet.

There was so much about this whole new world inhabited by the insanely rich that he didn't get; that he was now a part of it being top of the list. He didn't get the publicity, the manners, the attention, the _friggin _suits. Didn't get restaurants and hotels and the tiny tiny bottles of alcohol of which an empty stash lay all around him. He smirked to himself; he had managed to create a small dumpster for himself in the corner of this ultra stylish private jet. Really, he supposed, Amber was being amazingly tolerant.

He glanced over at his wife. _His fucking wife_. He didn't get that most of all. He wasn't quite sure whether to be amused or concerned at how he had let himself get married - _at all_, let alone to _her_. In the end, he decided to settle on amused.

She had sprawled herself untidily over three seats, and he wondered, not for the first time, how someone so small managed to take up so much space. Like she did in bed as well. Yes, him, in a bed. It had taken some getting used to, and he still ended up sleeping curled up tightly in one corner while the tiny minx sprawled her limbs across three people's worth of space.

He smiled to himself, surprised at the fondness of his reflections as he looked at her. She was half falling out of her chairs, and her hair - a rich chestnut colour today - was all over the place. She looked rather adorable, snoring softly, her skirt riding up to around her knees. He sighed; Zydrate, like alcohol, tripled its effects at high altitude, and she had consequently been pretty much out of it since shortly after the takeoff.

The plane hummed; they were coming in to land.

He reached lazily across the aisle and poked her gently. "Hey!"

No response. He got up with a sigh and knelt down by her head to stroke her cheek. "Hey, Amber?"

Still no response. *Sod *this, he thought; he slapped her gently. "Oi bitch! Wake the fuck up!"

She started suddenly, jolting almost out of her chairs before he caught her.

"Huh? Whassat? Wha' the fuck?" she squealed, looking around wildly before her eyes fixed upon the idiot who had woken her, and she slapped him in the face. At any rate, it helped her to wake up a little bit more.

"Wha's going on?"

"The plane's coming in to land, Amber," he explained patiently. "Got to go meet boring people, say boring things, and look pretty."

"Fagh," she said affectionately, stretching; "you couldn't look pretty if you tried."

"Don't have to, though, do I? *You do, Miss GeneCo-Rep-for-Europe, and right now you look like something the cat dragged in."

"Asshole!" she pouted, straightening her hair, which was threatening to slide off.

"Bitch!"

"Cunt!"

"Woman!"

"Woman? What the fuck kind of insult is that?"

"The worst." He sighed. "Go sort your face out."

She stuck her tongue out at him and flounced off.

~O~

Fifteen minutes later, a radiant Amber Sweet stepped off the plane to shake the hand of the Roman Ambassador. Not dropping the smile for half a minute, she turned fractionally to her husband to hiss,

"Where are my friggin' speech notes?"

He handed her a sheet instantly, patiently, wondering when he had worked out exactly how to so perfectly anticipate her whims. Oh, that was it - ever since the stroppy little brat in black leather had started coming to him regularly and demanding illicit drugs for her own form of payment. How long ago that seemed now, when he was just her dealer and she was just his whore. Correction, he sighed, there had never really been any 'just' about it. Kill him though it did to admit it, he had loved her, however unwillingly, from the very first.

"Ahem," she said, glancing at her notes and putting them away professionally. "On behalf of GeneCo, I would like to express out honour at your welcome and hereby extend our beneficient patronage to your fair city."

Graverobber stifled a snort. She sounded like a school child giving a recitation, stumbling over the long words. She kicked him subtly but painfully in the shin while the ambassador returned her greetings.

"Buorn giorno," she replied, affecting a laugh and a poorer knowledge of Italian than she really had. The man shook her hand again and they exchanged names, less formally:

"Amber Sweet," she beamed, oozing confidence and self assurance that was only half put-on these days, "GeneCo heiress and president. Oh yes," she added less confidently, "and this is my…um…husband." She blushed prettily, propelling him forward to shake hands.

_Oh god_, Graverobber thought, _oh good god have mercy_.

And yet the ground stubbornly refused to open up and swallow him.

_x_

**I will repost the rest of this soon, I promise and offer further apologies!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Graphic sexual content in this section!**

Part 2 # The Hotel

All the way through the limo ride, pulling up to the hotel, waiting in the foyer - he had, he realized, been wearing the slack-jawed expression of one blinded by opulence, lights, luxury and cut glass chandeliers. He realised this by virtue of a small bunched fist coming into sudden, painful contact with his gut, winding him.

"Hey, gormless! You gonna stand there all day catching flies?"

He made a sound rather like "Brbrlb?"

"Not bad is it?" She shrugged. "C'mon dickwad, heel."

He followed her obediently across the foyer, feeling stupid. "Where we goin'?"

"Er…to our suite?" she said, as though addressing a very special child.

"Oh." He gulped, following her into the elevator. "Goody."

He was, he realized, extraordinarily tired by now, almost falling asleep in the wrought iron elevator as it sailed up towards the penthouse suite. Amber, on the other hand, had entirely woken up, and was bouncing around with *far too much energy and singing to herself in an utterly exhausting manner. He smiled, indulgently, not having the heart to tell her she was doing his head in. Besides, he found himself thinking fondly, she was so sweet when she was happy. He was almost nauseated by the pooling of affection in his own chest.

"What you lookin' at?" she accosted him suddenly. He realized he must have been gazing at her with all too n*** warmth and, too tired to deny it, stroked her cheek gently.

"Pretty lady," he grunted, so as not to tell her quite how beautiful she was. She smiled a great grin all the same and leant in to kiss his hand, then broke away like an excitable child as the lift dinged to a stop.

"Hey!" she squealed, "we're there, c'mon!" She took his hand and dragged him, far too energetically, down the corridor to their rooms, flanked by their patient staff.

"Woah," he said flatly as they left the guards outside the door, turned the key and surveyed the room. Her eyes lit up at the glamour of it and she flitted about the rooms, examining things, while he stood at the door, half in shock.

"It's so - shiny - and...white -"

She skipped across the checkerboard floor and took his hands, standing on tip toe to kiss him on the lips. "Well, it is the bridal suite, baby," she teased.

"Y'know," he grumbled, sullying the room's perfection by dumping his coat on the floor and letting her lead him to the bedroom, "the white thing is supposed to symbolize purity - I'm really not sure we qualify."

She pouted and wriggled out of her jacket, turning back to him.

"I can do pure," she grinned, fluttering her eyelashes in a manner that made it perfectly clear that she couldn't. She slung her jacket on to a chair and sprung at him suddenly, pushing him onto the bed and straddling him before he had a chance to do anything about it. He held up his hands to ward her off, for all the good it would do.

"Amber!" he groaned. "Tired! Really tired!" She pouted back at him hugely and wriggled, leaning down to kiss him. He shifted uncomfortably.

"I really don't think I…" he tried to object, but her hands had slid between his legs, rubbing his rising e***, straining his jeans beneath her fingertips.

"Oh I really think you do." She grinned. He sighed, wondering if she would ever stop working on him the way she did, if he would ever stop wanting her so badly, ever be able to control even a fraction of his lust for her.

After all, it had been absolutely *hours - ever since they had gotten on the plane. He had foolishly asked her what the mile high club was, and she had licked her lips, grinned, jumped him, and made him an instant member. It was all part of Living With Amber Rule No. 1: What Amber wants, Amber gets. There was no point in fighting it, even if he had really wanted to.

He remembered their wedding night; how beautiful she had been, looking up at him with dark, frightened eyes, filled to brimming with desire and fear - fear that she was letting him in more than she had ever let anyone.

"I only feel alive when you're inside me," she had whispered, her eyes liquid, deep and trembling. He had loved her at that moment so much that he had determined then and there to give her as much life as he was capable of giving; and he had loved her at least that much ever since.

She leaned back, smiling, slowly unbuttoning her shirt, and he took the opportunity to slide a hand up her skirt, tormenting her already pulsing need with a touch that crackled and sparked, caressing her thighs and pressing into her dampness.

He slid two fingers up inside her and felt her spasm excitedly around him. He smirked; she was so easy to please he wasn't sure whether to be flattered or angry. She was so hot, so wantonly shameless, he wondered if anyone could have made her react like this or if it really could be him. Her sharp cry when he stroked her throbbing c*** was so nearly o*** that he removed his hand quickly, not quite ready to let her have it so easily.

Having Amber at his beck and call - and she was, however much it may have appeared to be the other way around in public (though he did half-happily jump when she called) - was a bit like having his own private harem. So many different looks, so many different moods - yet all of them so essentially Amber that he could easily fall for any one of them. She was adorably incapable at hiding her real self from him, she always had been. He couldn't help but wonder if he, in turn, was enough for her, if she would not have turned to anyone she found, indiscriminately, to satisfy her urges. The very idea made him blindingly, irrationally angry - angry enough to find the stregth to flip her onto her back on the bed and hold her there.

She continued to wriggle, but her smile turned to alarm when she saw the anger in his eyes, his lips curling into a snarl of need, his need to possess her, claim her as his only, his jealously heightened by how beautiful and sudenly vulnerable she looked.

"What is it?" she whispered, afraid she had done something wrong.

"W***!" he spat. "What if it wasn't me, just some Graverobber you didn't know? Would that be just as good for you, you s***?"

He held her down so hard she gasped for pain and her eyes brimmed. She couldn't answer aloud, but her lips replied well enough, and something in her kiss convinced him of her love so that he fell back onto her, kissing her urgently, bruising her lips with his fierce passion, releasing her hands, which went straight to unbuttoning his shirt.

"God, Amber," he groaned, leaning back. "You'll be the death of me one of these days."

She smiled a smile that quite plainly said "my work here is done, then", and banished his shirt to the floor. His hands gloried in the sweet softness of her skin, which pulsed and trembled into him wherever he touched her. He slid his hands over her body, divesting her of the rest of her clothes, determined to caress and lay claim to every little inch of her. In return, she got him out of his clothes, and they drowned in an ecstasy of one another that still felt curiously new; he was still terribly conscious of their nakedness - of feeling her skin against his and of how well they fit together, of the intertwining of their bodies and how much more complete it made him feel than he had ever known.

In return he was conscious of her timidity, her uncertainty of herself when there was nothing to hide behind, of how afraid she looked - something in her eyes begging him not to hurt her - and worst of all, when she looked at him like that, he wouldn't hurt her, couldn't even have hurt her for the world. Expert a s*** as she was at fuckintg, when it came to making love she was positively innocent, quivering and virginally unsure.  
2 days ago

Aaand the rest of chapter 2:

He took her tenderly, his hands and lips showing her how beautiful she was to him - not just her scarred, altered, perfect body, but who she was. He was determined to get to know the little girl who looked out at him through the w***'s eyes, determined to penetrate right into the heart of her - right into her soul. He wondered if she even remembered how she had offered it to him so blithely so long ago now.

Nevertheless, her half timid, answering caresses stirred his soul and he thrust into her deeply, urgently, nowhere near unselfish enough to give her pleasure without taking his own in return when the pleasure she gave him was so intense. And she moaned and cried and was soon screaming, deep hoarse cries ripping from far inside her, clinging to him with all her limbs, her legs locking around him, holding him tight and fast inside her and he held her crushingly close in return, kissing her as she came, as he shuddered into her in such a game of give and take that it was impossible for either of them to know where they ended and the other began.

When, eventually, she unlocked her limbs from around him, he fell back into the bed, utterly and completely spent. She got up on hesitant legs to lay claim to the bathroom and remove face and hair. When she got back she wriggled into bed, nuzzling up against him like a contented cat.

"Graverobber?"

But answer came there none. She raised her head a little.

"Graverobber?"

A faint snore. She shook her head in despair and sank back down on his chest.

"Idiot" she muttered fondly, smiling to herself and kissing him with more affection than she would have done if he had been awake. Then, the jet lag caught up with her, too, and sent her off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Part 3 # The Next Morning

Graverobber awoke to a beautiful, sunny morning, soft sheets, and the singing of birds outside.

"Whaddafuck?" he cried out in horror, kicking out at the sheets with all of his limbs, before remembering where he was and falling back down into the pillows sheepishly.

"Not quite a dumpster, is it, dear?" singsonged a mocking - but fond - voice from past the end of the bed. Amber, already up, was inhabiting the comfiest chair, painting her toenails the same lurid purple as her fingernails; hair green, lips pink. He made a noise in response and began adjusting his eyes to his new surroundings, better able to take it all in now after a (very) decent night's rest. It was insanely, extravagantly elegant, white and red with silver and gold trimmings, sun filtering in through the curtains. Daylight still threw him a bit, and he settled his gaze back on his wife for comfort - comforting, that was, if he didn't remember the appellation of "wife" that now attached itself to her. She was dividing her concentration just enough between him and her beauty regime to smirk at him condescendingly.

"Oh, get that look off your face and get me a beer, woman," he grunted.

"Get your own friggin' beer," she retorted. "Better still, get a coffee - it's first thing in the morning!"

"*That," he grunted, swinging round to sit up, "is why I need a friggin' beer." He made a face. "Mornings," he huffed, as though it were a dirty word. But he got up and engulfed Amber in a hug on his way through to the bathroom.

"The fuck you doing?" she yelped. "I'm painting my fucking nails! Get the fuck off!"

"Oh, well screw you too" he said affectionately, ruffling her hair to her further annoyance as she exaggeratedly checked her nails for signs of damage, wondering how best to fix her hair whilst retaining perfect nails.

"Amber!" growled a voice from the bathroom.

"Yes dear?" _Oh god,_ she thought, _I never knew I'd become a "Yes, dear" person.  
_  
"Where am I supposed to keep my friggin' make up?"

"I left you room, dear!"

"The fuck you did!"

She sighed dramatically and flounced into the bathroom to find a bemused Graverobber scratching his head in the middle of it.

"There, see?" She pointed to a space on the shelf.

"That's like this big!" he gestured.

"So? It's bigger than you'd get in a dumpster!"

He shrugged. She had a point. "Fiiine," he sighed. "Wouldn't want to deprive you of room for lotions, faces, and hair."

"Don't be an arse, Graverobber," she said, rolling her eyes affectionately, "I don't keep my hair in the bathroom. Neither should you," she added.

"Thank you, Ms. Sweet. Do please best educate me on where to store my accessories."

She ignored the sarcasm completely, suppressing even the urge to tell him how painfully he needed educating. "I have a special room for hair and shoes," she said, as though it were obvious. "You can have a corner if you promise not to mess your stuff up with mine," she added grudgingly.

"So gracious of you," he grunted, executing a mock bow.

"Asshole." She smiled.

"Barbie doll."

"Minger."

"Superficial mega bitch."

"Ill-mannered cockroach."

"Ms. Sweet, you wound me, I have never met an ill-mannered cockroach in my life."

"Look in a mirror sometime."

"Oh, take a pill."

"I'll take you."

With each rebuke they had moved closer until, now, finally colliding, they crashed into one another's lips and bodies with careless, hungry abandon. After a moment he leaned back and gave a deep, contented sigh.

"Good morning, Ms. Sweet." He smiled.

"Good morning, Graverobber." She pulled him back to her and proceeded to prove exactly how much room for two there was in one bathroom.

~O~

They came down to breakfast late, Graverobber lurking at the entrance, embarrassed, while Amber abused the staff, insisting the restaurant stay open just for them. She dragged him in - reluctantly on his part - as she flounced in triumphantly.

"Are you sure this is, like, allowed?" he muttered.

She gave him a faintly pitying look. "I'm Amber Sweet," she announced proudly, if a little too loudly; "I'm allowed to do whatever the hell I like."

"I just kinda…y'know…feel bad for the staff," he mumbled, aware that this probably broke some kind of taboo of filthy rich etiquette.

She frowned at him in amused incomprehension and laughed. "You're weird."

"Decaf?" came the voice of a man offering coffee. They both jumped, listening automatically for the string of invectives that would follow such a query at home, then caught each other doing it and laughed.

"Damn," he sighed, "it's good to get away."

"Hell. Yeah."

~O~

"So…any news from home yet?" Graverobber asked with an audible wince in his voice, genuinely concerned for the safety of the planet with his (shudder!) brothers-in-law left in charge. It was some minutes later, having just ordered breakfast and heartily mocked one another's choices.

"Just watch this space." Amber tapped her phone wryly, rolling her eyes.

"I suppose that at least means they haven't destroyed too much yet," he sighed.

"Graves, baby," she pouted in the very soft, oh-so-patient voice usually reserved for Pavi and which filled him with terror, "we've talked about how you talk about my brothers, haven't we, dear?"

He gave an exaggerated gulp and looked down at the table. "Yes miss, sorry miss."

She glared at him for a moment, unsure if he was being contrite or taking the piss, decided (correctly) that it was a little of both, and broke into a laugh to see the mischievous glitter in her husband's eyes.

"Of course," she said, accepting the arrival of breakfast without acknowledging the waiter in the slightest, "Luigi did call me with abandonment issues before we'd been gone half an hour. I'm just surprised that that's the last we've heard - sweetie use cutlery at least!"

"Sorry!" Graverobber looked up guiltily and shrugged. "What did you say to him?"

"I told him to get the f*** over it, of course I still love him and blah blah blah - y'know, the usual."

"Huh" Graverobber grunted. He was usually more than pretty forgiving of people; Luigi Largo was the exception. "I don't see why you put up with him at all, complete and utter -"

"Graverobber!"

"But he _is _a -"

"Graverobber!"

"- and a complete and total one," he muttered. "So, um, what's the plan?"

"Plan is we go the colosseum, doofus, it *is our first day in Rome."

"I read there were some great catacombs just outside the city…"

"Pfft," she snorted. "Like you'd be trusted within a mile of them, _GraveRobber_." She pronounced the words with smiling, mocking emphasis.

"Huh," he sulked, "you won't be complaining when you're full of the nice shiny Zydrate."

"Today we do the Coloseum" said Amber patiently; "*tomorrow we can go see your smelly old catacombs. Deal?"

Whether to capitulate or to argue a thing out for half an hour until Amber got her own way anyway was fast becoming the most frequently made decision in Graverobber's life.

"Deal," he sighed.

"I have to go get changed," she said.

"You're dressed!"

"I have to go get changed," she repeated, this time in her Doing A Favour To A Slow And Stupid Child tone of voice. "I've already worn this now." Then she grinned and licked her lips. "Wanna come help me?"

"Amber my love," he replied as nonchalently as possible, picking up a newspaper casually to hide how tempted he was by her offer, "tempting though that scenario sounds it is not one that will lead to either of us leaving the hotel any time today and you know it."

He grinned and leaned back with the paper, putting his feet up on the painfully valuable table as she smiled tolerantly and kissed her finger sweetly to his lips.

"I'll wait," he called as she departed, and he blew an elaborate kiss at her retreating back.

_x_


	4. Chapter 4

**Part 4 # The Colosseum**

"Y'know," Graverobber grumbled as the limo pulled up across from the Colosseum, "we could have just walked."

Amber looked over at him with a somewhat pained expression, under which he instantly felt himself starting to shrink. "Do you have no concept of how to make an appearance at all?" She rolled her eyes. "No, don't answer that. C'mon."

She grabbed his arm before he went so far as to open the door for himself, shaking her head at him in half-mock despair.

"Watch and learn, baby." She grinned, letting the valet let her out. "Watch and learn."

It was a good thing, Graverobber thought, that he was feeling tolerant. But then, he was coming to learn a lot about compromise - he was having to to make living with Amber anywhere near bearable. Compromise meant he could object as long as he then did what she said. Still, it seemed to have become the unspoken rule between them that she was the boss of him by day and he took his turn by night, or, indeed, at any other time he wanted her; that is to say, far too often for his sanity.

He stepped out into the glaring sunlight, squinting, feeling like a blot on the landscape, especially next to Amber, who was tossing her cloak to a tolerant valet and turning round in a swathe of blue and purple silk, looking for all the world as though she would have been right at home here 2000 years ago.

He grinned at her. "Why, Ms. Sweet, you're beautiful."

She blushed and looked away half-shyly for just a split second, pushing a tendril of hair from her face, before recovering, looking up, and shrugging at him with utter assurance. "Well, duh!" She beamed. He held out his arm to her and she took it, smiling faintly ironically, as if to suggest that really she was only playing at taking his arm.

"I don't know much about it," he began as they walked towards the building's looming and golden lower arches, "but shouldn't there be more people around?" It was only them and the guards about as far as he could see.

"Oh, I didn't tell you? I bought the place out for the day." She shrugged. "Well, I could hardly be expected to _queue_, could I?"

He blinked at her, an expression that she knew by now stood for "Are you for real? Oh god, you are, aren't you?" He was silent for a moment, then turned to her, curiously, wondering,

"Don't you ever get tired of this?"

"Of what?"

"_This _- being special, being seen, having people around you all the time. Doesn't it…y'know…bug you?"

She thought for a moment, then shook her head.

"I guess it might," she said slowly, "if I'd ever known otherwise. But I don't. I guess, if you mean, 'Do I ever get tired of being Amber Sweet?' then no, I don't, that's why I chose to be her - me, that is. Why? Would you rather I was someone else?"

He shook his head quickly, but smiled to hear her talk so thoughtfully about herself. She's changed too, he realized, made her own compromises - some of them even to him.

"Not in a million years." He smiled. "I love you, Amber Sweet, always have done, always will."

It was more than he meant to say, and he swallowed hard, embarrassed. She squeezed his arm fondly - happily, he thought. He saw her eyes sparkling on their own, without the aid of Zydrate, and it occurred to him that she had gone without since early yesterday. He knew it was too soon to get too hopeful just yet, but still, he couldn't help but be a little.

"Still," he said hurriedly (it was too early in the morning and too public to get too intimate just yet), "do you ever feel defined by what you are - by who people see you as, I mean?"

She laughed a little. "Well, what else would I be defined by? Who I am is what I am, not the other way around, and what people see on the outside of me is so much an expression of what's on the inside that it _is_ me - as much as I want it to be. You see?"

He saw, fascinated by the multi-layers of Amber Sweet; she just kept unfolding like a flower.

"Besides" she went on, "aren't we all defined by appearance in some way?"

"I'm not." He shrugged.

She snorted. "Oh, come on, you're worse than anyone, _Graverobber_ - you've even named yourself for what you do. You can't step into a street without being recognized straight away for who you are and what you do."

"Or what I am and who I do," he finished. "Fair point." He shrugged. But if anyone else had made that point, he would probably have killed them dead, run away, or both. He had never particularly liked being understood, let alone psychoanalyzed - only Amber could ever have gotten away with it, and he had had no idea that she thought about things quite this much.

"There's nothing shallow about appearances," she concluded; "it's about as deep as you can get. There's more to be found in a person's face and makeup than in the depths or their soul. I should know."

"You've never lost your soul," he pointed out.

"No, but I'd rather keep my face any day."

"I knew a chap lost his soul once," he began.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah…" he frowned, contemplating. "But it wasn't very funny."

Amber stopped dead for a moment.

"Graverobber?"

"Amber?"

"Are we having a *conversation?"

He frowned again. "Huh. Guess we are."

"Shall we stop?"

"Good with that"

"Oh, look!" She jumped off suddenly, making for one of the stalls beneath the arches. "Shiny things!"

He rolled his eyes and followed her slowly. "Guess I *could use some shades," he grunted.

A few moments later they arrived at the entry tunnel, Amber doubled over, laughing like a drain, and even the valets having to try hard not to smirk - after all, they've been looking good in shades for some time.

"Yes, yes, very funny," Graverobber muttered, adjusting his shades self-consciously; but he stopped dead when he caught sight of himself in the entryway window. "Oh, god!" he howled. "You're right! I do look like a dick!"

Graverobber stood roughly in the centre of the coloseum, looking up at the tiers of seats and the crumbled architecture of the upperrows. It was fascinating, he supposed, but not as much so as the little blue and purple figure flitting through the arches along the edges, the silken swathes of her dress billowing out behind her and fluttering through the pillars. She was like a large, bright butterfly, fully aware of the effect she presented - she had, after all, dressed with the sheer aim in mind of appearing exactly as she did right then, and he tried very hard not to be captivated by the beauty of the picture she wove, but found himself horribly, hopelessly caught in her web. He half-wished he could be having more important thoughts than these in a setting like this, rather than just plain wanting Amber, getting hot from more than just the sun. His cock started to throb painfully from wanting her, and that morning's fuck on the bathroom floor seemed a lifetime ago. He wondered if he would ever have enough of her, and no longer hoped that one day he would.

He watched her ascend to the upper tiers of seats and walk around the edge, singing loudly and unashamedly as she went. Trust her, he thought, to get as high up as she possibly can be.

She stopped and waved at him hugely from above, and he shaded his eyes to look up at her.

"Can you imagine the audience?" she yelled down at him. "Imagine all the people you could fit in here!"

"There would be people," he called up to her, "if you hadn't bought the place up!"

She flipped him the bird from above and started to float down through the rows towards him. All he could see was her, and all he could feel was heat, starting to sweat with it in the sun and dust of the arena. He half-found himself thinking that this was the way a gladiator would have felt with a wild beast coming towards him - frightened and exhilarated by its power over you and your power over it. Luckily, the Amber-beast was one he knew just how to tackle.

"If there was an audience," she said, up close to him now so he could feel her breath, "what kind of a show would you give them?" She looked up at him, almost coyly, big eyed, smiling that wicked smile of hers that had teeth and a challenge in it. It was almost unbearable; he pulled her against him hard and tangled a hand in her hair, yanking her head back to look down at her, her pretty face gazing back up at him. Her eyes smarted and she bared her teeth; still, she hissed in his grasp, "What kind of game would you play?"

"The kind I'd win," he growled, lips close to hers, before he kissed her fiercely, with teeth as much as lips and tongue, holding her crushingly close; but she didn't struggle for all the discomfort, surrendering herself happily to his embrace, to his lust, her own lust washing through her and pooling warm and glowing between her legs. She moaned softly and gave into him completely, without even a fight, and he wanted her too purely and completely even to object to her lack of resistance. He pushed her down into the dust, pulling her dress down from her shoulders roughly to expose her breasts, kissing and caressing them savagely and hungrily, unable even to speak and tell her what he wanted, so choked up by lust as he was then. Still, she knew what he wanted well enough, could feel his cock pressing demandingly into her thigh, and she reached between their legs to caress him through his jeans, loving being able to make him groan like that. She felt like a sacrificial victim, here in the middle of so much, and she loved the feeling. She could almost hear the shouts of an ancient, imaginary crowd at this, the latest battle to played out on these sands, could smell the blood on the sand, feet the vibrations of the earth…

"Inside me," she gasped between fluttering breaths and her raging heartbeat. "Want you inside me!"

He would have told her that that was exactly where he wanted to be if he had had breath to spare, but he didn't. He freed his cock with hands that almost trembled too much; were his need not so great, so near to agonizing, he felt he might die if it wasn't satisfied. They both screamed when he penetrated her, shoving into her fast and hard, her body welcoming him completely, making it easy for him to impale her, stabbing and thrusting into her violently again and again. They screamed - raw, ragged, inelegant screams, the very touch of the other igniting their skin and the feel of him inside her stroking her into a frenzy as he slammed into her hard enough to leave bruises, however wet and wanting she may be.

He fucked her brutally, almost afraid of the violence of his own need. It was so hot, so hot under the sun; their bodies were wet with sweat and sliding together, and it made him feel like he was drowning in her. Sliding inside her was like diving into a cool, delicious stream, and he wanted the pleasure of it to last forever, or at least for as long as at all possible. It was strange to be out here, so exposed - in many ways such a far cry from the shadowy alleyways of their early liaisons; and yet, in terms of lust - of how he wanted her then and wanted her now, of how good it felt then and still felt now - really, very little had changed. So much space, so much room to scream in, and still the same guards nearby, who knew to look away now better than they ever did before. Their role, he knew, had changed now, so that they still protected her from everyone, just everyone except for him; though it crossed his mind that perhaps she *needed protecting from him, more than from anyone else. In moments like this it would be all too easy to martyr her to his lust; but then, he was a victim of it, too, and he slammed into her all the harder for being afraid of what he could do to her, how badly he could hurt her. The pained, ecstatic contractions of her cunt drew him divinely deep inside her and she raked her nails down his back, screaming her passion and release to the sky. Somehow, here, he was not afraid to cry out with her, no longer felt the need to bite his tongue and swallow his cries, and it felt as though their screams would shatter the earth and bring this monument down around their heads. They were neither of them sure, in that moment, if they would have noticed if it had.

They fell back, breathing heavily, gazing up at the sky. She felt her body shaking down into calm and reached, blindly, for his hand. She found it straight away and squeezed as she shuddered out the last of her trembling; he squeezed back, too breathless to do more. She exhaled, deeply and slowly.

"Wow," she said, and he grinned.

_x_

**And that is all I have for now people – thank you for bearing with me – I may find more at some point.**

**Thank you again to Wandergirl108 for beta-ing this fic and who is basically the reason it is back up! **


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